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i wake up in my daughter’s bunk bed and look around.  alone.  always alone.  my daughter and wife are in the master bedroom.  sleeping.  always sleeping.  my head is pounding.  my mouth is pasty.  my mind is blurry.  i nervously stand up and look for my clothes.  my glasses.  my wallet.  i find all three.  i slide open the bedroom door and put on the coffee.  head still pounding.  mind still blurry.  i walk to the bathroom and take a piss.  i flush the toilet and stare into the mirror.  ugly.  i exit the bathroom and walk back into the living room.  i turn on the tv and then look into the master bedroom to see my wife and daughter.  they are sleeping.  still.  i walk back into the living room and stumble onto the couch.  the coffee beeps.  i get up and put cream and sugar into my coffee and then take a spoon and stir.  i put the spoon down on the counter and walk back to the living room and sit down once again on the couch.  i fart.  then i take a big sip of coffee.  head pounding still.  tired.  always tired.  life is getting the better of me.  i am getting older and wiser.  my Dad died over thirty five years ago and my Mom will soon die.  the cycle of life.  sad but true.  i will eventually die.  and then my wife will die. and therefore we will not see our daughter grow up.  this saddens me.  it also angers me.  i am no longer fooled by bad movies.  bad food.  bad books and bad tv.  the world is filled with fakes and phonies and i am attempting to avoid all of them.  i drink lots of wine and last night i had ten too many…again.  as i sip my coffee i try to piece the night together but it is impossible.  i have blood on my right shoe and a small scratch on my left cheek.  the phone rings and i tense up.  i hear my wife wake up and this scares me.  “WHAT DID I DO LAST NIGHT???”  just recently i found my life to be dull and boring and now i sit in shame and fear.  i long for the dull days.  “how are you feeling today?” my wife asks with a scowl.  “good…why?”  i answer with a lie.  “are you sure???”  “yeah…I think.”  my wife gets a cup and pours a coffee.  she puts a bit of cream and a bit of sugar into it and then stirs just like i did.  married couples copy each other.  how very cute.  she then walks over to the living room ands sits on the couch opposite me.  she takes a sip of her coffee and asks once again,  “how are you feeling???”  i stare straight into her eyes and say, “i’m sorry.”  not sure what for.  we have a staring contest and then my daughter comes out of the master bedroom and runs to her.  she holds her tight.  she also stares right at me.  she has a scowl on her face too.  i am tired.  weak.  unconditional love seemingly absent.  we all sit in silence.  life slowly ticking away.  eyes tired and blurry.  head still pounding and mouth still pasty.  i want to climb a mountain.  i also want to sit on a beach.  

Jack Tait has endured another year.  this one went by faster than the last.  another year closer to death.  Jack Tait wants to visit so many places before he dies but he knows that it won’t happen.  a lack of money and a lack of clothes always seem to get in the way.  Jack Tait has long ago given up the notion of finding a woman and settling down.  he has always preferred to fuck girls and drink booze and this has always made him happy contrary to what the peasants have told him .  the peasants pretend they are happy but Jack Tait knows that he is sad.  mad.  horny.  good things come in threes.  he once had a threesome.  he even had a fivesome.  Jack Tait has fucked over one hundred and twenty five girls but hasn’t fucked a girl in over twenty years.  he has one sagging ball.
  Winter is soon approaching and this means darker days.  darker nights.  he hears the coyotes howling off into the distance.  he also hears an ambulance.  Jack Tait wonders if someone is dying.  Jack Tait never wants to die.  his Dad died much too young and he doesn’t want this to happen to him.  he is sixty years old.  he thinks he is thirty.  Jack Tait is a thinker.  a dreamer.  a masturbator.  a visionary.  a psychic.  a poet.  an animal.  a drunk.  a loner.  he wants to be a pilot when he grows up but he is almost at retirement age.  his hair is long and grey.  his beard is long and grey.  his ball sags.  he sits on the shitty couch in his shitty house in the middle of nowhere and stares at the shitty wall.  he reads Bukowski and drinks Jack.  he is naked.  always naked.  both figuratively and literally.  he is STUCK.  he wants to invent the cure for cancer but knows it’s already been invented and the greedy fuckers who run that shitty business will not allow it to be patented.  he doesn’t do movember because he always has a beard.  he also thinks it’s a crock of shit like all other fake fucking fundraisers.  rich raising more money for their boring friends.  fake fluffy fuckers wearing boring suits and sipping boring drinks.  Jack Tait gets up and walks out of his house.  he is still naked and he is still drunk.  he is sweating profusely and his face is red.  he has no idea where he is going but he never knows where he is going.  he is what the peasants would call a “hippie.”  Jack Tait prefers to think of himself as a thinker.  he walks down his long driveway and searches for his blue tricycle.  Jack Tait vaguely remembers riding it home last night but he also remembers some sort of fight.  an altercation with seven Mexicans from Mexico eating Mexican rice and drinking Mexican beer.  Jack Tait wishes he could travel to Acapulco and go to Disco Beach again.  he knows that he can’t.  forty years ago Jack Tait flooded four toilets in Acapulco.  he also fucked ten girls and almost fucked one more.  he almost drowned in the ocean in a drunken stupor too and then he almost found his true love.  Jack Tait looks around and sees nothing.  he begins to walk.  his eyes close.  “SHIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTT!!!  I THINK I AM HAVING A HEART ATTACK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK ME.  HELP.  HELP.  CAN SOMEONE PLEASE HELP???  I AM HAVING A HEART ATTACK!!!”  no one answered Jack’s desperate calls.  they never did.  Jack Tait lay motionless on the ground for twenty two minutes.  the sun was not out.  he was cold.  he eventually opened his eyes and sat up.  nothing.  nowhere.  he wishes he connected with more people when he was young and vibrant.  he didn’t.  he hated people and hated rules.  Jack Tait got up off the ground and walked back into his house.  he wanted to call all of his long lost friends and long lost family but he smashed his phone fifteen years ago when a collection agency came to his house.  so Jack sits and ponders.  “HELL…that is all I got sir.  hell.  I hope it gets better but I know it won’t.  I am getting older.  wrinklier.  even if you wanted me to fuck you I couldn’t.  too tired and too drunk.  I LOVE YOU.” 
  Jack Tait closes his eyes again and falls asleep.  he has a big smile on his face.

Jack Tait is tired.  tired of people.  tired of rules.  tired of fakes.  tired of phonies.  tired of life.  he has periodic bouts of energy followed by periodic bouts of drunkenness and periodic bouts of diarrhea.
  Jack Tait lives by himself on a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere.  drunk daily.  masturbates daily.  shits daily.  reads daily.  listens to music daily.  he sometimes wishes he could see people again but then soon realizes how dull and boring they are.  dull lives.  dull stories.  dull houses.  dull cars.  dull girlfriends.  dull boyfriends.  dull dogs.  dull sex lives.  DULL.
  Jack Tait sits alone and naked on his shitty purple reclining chair and ponders life.  he also ponders death.  he has a headache and his brain is scattered.  he finishes off his forty of Jack Daniels and stumbles to the bathroom.  he is edgy.  he is restless.  he is alone.  he sits on the “can” and falls asleep.  nothing happens.  nothing.  his left ball is sore.  he feels guilty even when sleeping.  bad temper.  bad words.  bad breath.  bad.  mad.  sad. 
  he wakes up four hours later and runs out the door.  he screams.  he runs.  he screams some more.  “HELP ME.  HELP ME.  HELP ME.  FOR I HAVE SINNED.”  no answer.  no sound.  no sun.  no life.  no voice.  no one.  alone.  tired.  left ball still hurting.  dry mouth.  thirsty.  naked.  stuck.  Jack Tait stumbles back into his house and grabs his Louisville Slugger.  He swings it once.  he swings it twice.  he swings it three times and sits down.  tired.  old.  wrinkled.  lonely.  frustrated.  hot.  heat flashes will never end.  dull.  his left ball still sore.  Jack Tait quietly falls asleep.  life is nearing it’s end.

Jack Tait jerked off and then washed his face.  he also brushed his teeth.  he took a dump and then flushed the toilet.  he was tired and hungover but he needed to get to the bank.  his disability pension had just come in and he needed a bottle of Jack to get him through the day.  the week.  the month.  the year.  Jack Tait had long ago given up on life but he just couldn’t die.  he had one sagging ball and sagging skin.  he knew that with each passing day he was going to get uglier and uglier.  he knew that contrary to what people had told him when he was young…GETTING OLD IS SHITTY.  wrinkled.  soft.  fat.  bald.  hairy.  ugly.  painful.  fearful.  lonely.  impotent.  sad.  Jack walked out of his shitty house in the middle of nowhere and hopped on his blue tricycle.  he lived a life filled with shame but he never hurt anyone.  he rode and rode and then rode some more. his life was filled with riding and hiding.  he eventually arrived at the bank.  he hopped off of his blue tricycle and went inside.  people looked at him but he no longer cared.  he was naked.  he walked up to the front of the line and asked for his money.  the quiet and fearful teller gave Jack his money and he exited the building.  he jumped onto his blue tricycle and just sat and observed.  he observed life and death.  animals and humans.  he watched as humans were so fast.  so rushed.  a rush to get nowhere.  rushing through life to eventually find death.  and then nothing in death.  nothing in life.  nothing in death.  just a sad, lonely, and pathetic existence.  Jack saw one hundred and fifty-two people in a rush to nowhere that day.  he sat.  he thought.  he drank.  he thought some more.  he then cried as he thought about life.  and then thought about death.  “life is too short and death is too long and too near.”  Jack Tait watched one hundred and fifty-two people going through life but eventually going through death.  he thought of his youth and his dead Dad.  he thought of his Mom.  he then thought of his brother.  family was once so important.  Jack Tait began pedalling.  rain began teaming down.  Jack Tait was alone once again.  he rode and rode and rode and eventually made it home.  dirty and wet.  Jack Tait opened the front door to his shitty house and walked in.  he sat on his shitty purple reclining chair and cried.  death is sad no matter how you spin it.  death is sad.

Jack Tait decided that it was time to inflict pain on the assholes who attempted to ruin his life.  the rich assholes who never looked in the mirror and blamed everyone else for their fledgling businesses…their fledgling lives.  divorces and bankruptcies.  failed friendships and failed sexual encounters.  the phonies who ruled the world but who actually had small dicks and no balls.  short fat bald assholes who overcompensated for being geeks in high school.  Jack Tait was sickened by this type of behaviour and because he woke up today with a pulsating nut that was in severe pain he decided that it was time.  “FUCK YOU YOU MAGGOTS AND PHONIES AND ABUSIVE SHORT FUCKERS!!!  I WILL GET MY REVENGE.  YOU WILL SQUEAL LIKE THE LITTLE PIGS THAT YOU ARE!!!”
  these rich fake geeks had fake friends and fake dinners.  fake wives and fake daughters.  fake everything but all of these fake fuckers were geeks who fed each other fake bullshit and fake boredom.  geeks supporting geeks.  maggots and trolls.  fat and ugly.  ugly personalities combined with fake ugly hair and fake ugly tits and fake ugly cars.  “fake.  fake.  fake.  ALL OF YOU PEOPLE ARE FAKE AND I WILL UNLEASH ALL OF MY RAGE ON YOUR POOR LITTLE PEASANT LIKE BRAINS!!!”
  Jack Tait walked to the side of his shitty house and grabbed his Louisville Slugger.  he hopped on his blue tricycle and rode to the end of his long driveway.  he jumped off of his bike and started swinging his bat…for practice.  one duck.  two ducks.  three ducks.  four.  Jack Tait jumped back onto his blue tricycle and rode on.  the Louisville Slugger in his right hand.  Jack Tait rode and rode and rode some more.  he was red with rage.  red with sweat.  red with booze.  he was on a mission and this mission was going to be won.  most of Jack’s missions lost but not this one.  sixty years of frustration with fake fuckers.  his rage was ready to come out.  “why do people hurt each other?”  Jack asked the hamster on the side of the road.  the hamster ignored Jack but the rich fake assholes could not. 
  after four hours of riding and four hours of sweating Jack arrived at his destination.  the Park Lawn Tennis Club.  a place where rich fucking fake skinny pansies pretended they were cool and all laughed at each other’s dull jokes and talked about their dull wives and fake lives.  a place where the geeks had an audience while their wives were at the spa and then Starbuck’s.  a whole pile of sloppy runny light brown shit!!! 
  Jack Tait walked through the white fake front doors and began swinging.  began smashing.  a full on rampage.  screams and yelps replaced fake laughs and fake talks.  blood everywhere.  one by one the maggots hit the floor while Jack swung his bat.  Jack also stomped on their bald heads.  some of these rich fake fucks’ wigs fell off into a sea of red blood without guts.  Jack Tait then arrived at the ONE asshole who was the ring leader of all the fake fucks who tried to ruin his life with all of his fake rules and fake judgements.  THE LEADER OF THE MAGGOTS.  “Hey Jack…how are you fine fellow?  I think you are soooo good at what you do Jack.  I would love to help you out in any way possible.  TRUST ME.”  Jack knew when someone said, “TRUST ME”, they meant “I WILL FUCK YOU” so Jack pulled this maggots pants down and laughed at his small penis.  he then asked him to recite some quotes from some boring books that the leader of the maggots always wanted Jack to read.  but the maggot didn’t know anything about the quotes from the “amazing” boring book that he wanted everyone to memorize.  “YOU ARE SO FULL OF DIRTY SMELLY SHIT THAT I WOULD LIKE TO SIT YOU DOWN AND TELL YOU JUST HOW IRRELEVANT YOU AND YOUR SHORT FAMILY ARE!!!”  the maggot was scared.  sweating.  smiling.  squirming and begging.  the maggot tried every phony trick he could think of.  all boring clichés from other boring peasants at the elite tennis club.  Jack wondered what all these maggots did for fun besides jerk each other off but he only wondered for five minutes.  he then got bored and began smashing the leader of the maggots with his bat.  one leg.  two legs.  pelvis and back.  then onto his stomach and right shoulder.  right collar bone and neck.  left arm next and then left shoulder and then one final big swing he took off his head.  Jack Tait then sat down and took a shit on the tennis court.  he looked up to the roof and saw a picture of some boring hero like Oprah or Jesus.  he sat up and walked out of the tennis club.  his life finally complete.  he jumped on his blue tricycle and rode away.  sad music playing in Jack’s imagination.  always playing.  happy fluffy music once playing in the leader of the maggots imagination but no longer.  he was on the floor dead with all the other fake fucks who fuck people over.
  Jack Tait is real.  Jack Tait is human.  Most people are fake.  Most people are inhumane.